


when you come home

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auba and Marco are missing each other while on international break.</p><p> </p><p>Featuring: The Gabon national team, blatant misuse of emojis and a high-stakes game of Uno.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you come home

**Author's Note:**

> I got prompted to do something for Pierreus missing each other and the anon asked for phone sex. This is what I was able to come up with.
> 
> The mentioned members of the Gabon NT are:  
> \- Malick is Malick Evounoa who features in a few of Auba's instagram pics  
> -Ovono is Didier Ovono, Gabon's goalkeeper and the oldest (wisest) member of the squad  
> \- Ibrahim is Ibrahim N'Dong, who's one of the youngest squad members 
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from Deer Tick's "When she comes home"

Auba’s phone wakes him a few minutes before his alarm goes off. He swings towards it blindly, squinting in the early morning sunlight and almost pulls the socket out from where it’s still attached to the charger.

_‘It’s too early,’_ the message reads. Auba groans and buries his face back into the pillow. Marco’s chosen the most obnoxious picture as his WhatsApp avatar, one of those black and white photoshoots that make him look like a graceful model, and it blinks at him from his phone screen.

 

‘ _so you decided you’d better wake me up too?’_ he types back, rewriting it twice because it is early and he’s got to translate the words in his head.

 

‘ _you should be up anyway. I added Gabon on my world clock’_ Auba smothers a laugh, trying not to wake Malick, still sound asleep in the opposite bed.

_‘I’m in France, Marco. It’s the same timezone as Germany’_

 

 _‘Oh shit’_ followed by a sequence of monkey emojis. Auba decides he might as well get up. He takes the phone with him to the bathroom. He spots his reflection in the mirror, mussed up and tired. He’s worn an old pair of BVB sweatpants and shirt to bed, and he takes a picture of himself to send to Marco, right before he takes it all off and steps into the shower.

_‘I’m forgiven then?’_ waits for him when he gets out and he wipes his hands on the towel to type back.

_‘Aren’t you always?’_

 

He doesn’t bother folding his sleeping clothes, just throws them on the bed, smiling when he catches sight of the number under the logo. It’s probably lucky for him that his teammates don’t know that he doesn’t play under the number 11 at Borussia Dortmund.

 

Auba isn’t quite sure how Marco’s sweatpants got to be in his suitcase, but he likes the idea of their clothes starting to mix up, of Marco wearing his favorite scarf and his shirts smelling like Marco’s aftershave.

 

He likes the idea of Marco messaging him first thing in the morning just because he misses being near him, despite all the opportunities the national team offers to socialize with people Marco hasn’t seen in a while.

 

It’s reassuring.

 

 

*

 

 

From there on, it’s a constant back and forth between them, a sequence of short texts and pictures, of Mats engrossed in a book and Müller falling over and a bush that Marco thought looked a bit like the bat-signal. Auba catches himself grinning stupidly at his phone too many times.

 

It’s good to see his other family though, to sing songs they all know on the bus heading to the training facilities. It’s great to walk onto the training field and know that his words are important, that there are people here that need more from him than just goals. Daunting, but great.

 

Still, he misses Marco on the other side of the field, misses his precise passes and incisive runs. Misses his laughter and the warm press of his shoulder in team huddles. His phone is in his bag in the locker room and he’s itching to run and grab it, to see if Marco’s replied to his text, never mind that he’s probably in training right now as well.

 

But Poko’s gotten better since the last time he’s seen him, and Malick faster. He tells them so, and gets bright smiles in return, their shoulders strengthened. Auba looks around them sometimes, bright young faces that look at him for guidance and wonders how he got to be one of the oldest on the team. It’s his duty to give them all the time he’s got.

 

His resolution only stands until he’s showered and redressed, but he tries to be more discreet about watching his phone every ten seconds.

 

Apparently, he’s not discreet enough.

 

“Hey, Captain, who’s texting you so much? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were boring!” Ovono is leaning over the table, trying to catch a glimpse of his phone and several of their teammates are looking up from their food or discussions.

 

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Auba says, hastily backing out of a picture of Marco’s shoes. “Just a friend.”

 

“Is it Marco Reus?!” Ibrahim asks, wide-eyed and excited. Auba chokes on his water.

 

“Yeah,” he manages to choke out between coughs that don’t subside until Malick thumps him solidly on the back. By then, most of the team has returned to their meals, except for Ibrahim, who still looks excited and Ovono, who’s hiding his smile behind a cup of water.

 

“What’s he like?”

 

Auba finds himself at a loss for words. A lot of words come to mind when he thinks about Marco (beautiful, brilliant, kind), but none of them seem to be enough to describe everything he is (stubborn, reckless, insufferable).

 

“He’s great,” Auba says eventually. “He’s my best friend.”

 

 

*

 

 

Auba leaves the rest of his squad to an impassioned game of Uno and retreats to his room. Just in time, because his phone starts ringing as soon as the door clicks shut behind him.

 

“Hi, Auba,” he smiles reflexively at the warmth in Marco’s voice, letting it wash over him, calming and familiar.

 

“Hey you,” Auba makes himself comfortable on the bed, tugging the comforter loose. “All done with team bonding?”

 

“I should be asking you that, Captain Aubameyang,” and he knows Marco means it as a joke, but he can’t help the fission of warmth that runs through him every time. “Are you alone?”

 

“I left them all to a high-stakes game of Uno.”

 

“You’re not playing?”

 

“I’m too good at it. It’d be unfair.” Marco laughs, but it’s unusually breathy. Auba listens to him shifting on the other end of the line and suddenly misses him something fierce.

 

“I don’t doubt it. Did you see the picture I sent you? The shoes?” Auba had seen it, a fantastic pair of sneakers in bright purple with golden flames embroidered on the sides. They’d suited Marco perfectly.

 

“Yeah. Did you buy them?” More sheet rustling and Marco’s breath is in his ear, distorted by static.

 

“Not yet. I don’t know if I can pull them off.”

 

“You can pretty much pull off anything,” Auba isn’t usually this sentimental, and neither of them are the types for cliché romantic gestures. Still, it’s been a while since he’s been apart from Marco, especially for a few weeks. It rankles.

 

There’s a silence on the other end of the line, then more shifting and sheets rustling, and then Marco’s voice comes back, almost an octave lower and enough to make his blood rush swiftly downwards.

 

“Are you flirting with me, Batman?” and everything suddenly makes a lot more sense.

 

“You’re the one with his hand down his pants!” another half stifled moan comes down the line and it’s got Auba looking nervously at the door. How long do they have until Malick comes back and catches them?

 

“They’re your pants, actually,” Marco says.

 

“You swapped our sweatpants? Why?” It’s too late to pretend that Marco’s choked off moans aren’t turning him on and he gets up to flip the safety latch on the hotel door, before throwing himself back on the bed.

 

“Because I wanted to. Now come on, back to phone sex, the movies make it sound so good,” Marco says and Auba has to briefly remove the mobile phone from his ear to stare at it blankly. Marco’s bluntness was one of the things that’d attracted Auba to him, but sometimes he was just too much.

 

“You’ve never had phone sex before?” is what he eventually comes up with, only to get silence on the other end.

 

“…I don’t think I know anyone who has, now that you mention it.”

 

Neither has Auba, but he’s beginning to realize that being with Marco is just a wealth of new experiences.

 

“Well, I’ve got my hand on my dick right now, if you’d like to catch up,” the sound he hears on the other side of the line is familiar enough; he’s heard Marco take off his clothes plenty of times.

 

Maybe this phone sex thing wasn’t so overrated after all.

 

“Well, I’m not wearing any pants, so there.”

 

“Oh,” Auba frowns and tries to rearrange the rapidly overheating phone.

 

“What’s wrong now?”

 

“I thought you were going to leave them on. For the…effect?” He can feel himself blushing.

 

“…you kinky motherfucker. Hold on, just let me find them.” More shifting noises.

 

“You can’t just put them back on, you asshole! You’ve ruined it now!” Auba’s not quite sure how this has evolved into an argument, but his dick is still showing interest, so it’s probably just a natural progression.

 

“Well-”

 

There’s the sound of a card key sliding in the lock. The door rattles. Everything freezes. Then, the knocking starts.

 

“Auba!” It’s Malick. “Let me in! I got the fifth Pick Four in a row and I quit!”

 

Auba looks back and forth between the door and his hand down his pants. Marco starts laughing in his ear, snickers turning into full-blown belly laughter, and Auba hates him so much.

 

“I hate you so much!” he hisses into the phone receiver, waiting just long enough to hear the answering “I love you too!” before disconnecting the call. He tries to make himself at least a little bit presentable when he goes to open the door, but Malick only sees his tragic Uno loss, so he probably shouldn’t even have bothered.

 

Later on, when Auba’s showered (so maybe he took a bit longer in the shower than usual) and changed (still in Marco’s sweatpants), he opens up his phone to find a message from Marco. It’s a pineapple emoji and a kissy face emoji, and he can’t help but laugh.

 

 _‘Love you, you asshole.’_ He sends back, before pulling the covers over his head, counting down the days till he’s due back in Dortmund.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr.](http://neyvenger.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Kudos are loved, comments are treasured!


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